Jewish When Convenient
by I've Been a Labrat
Summary: "Social convention dictates I return the favor of buying Christmas gifts. However, you should all know by now that social convention means nothing to me. Have a merry Christmas. Signed, your resident Jew-when-convenient"
1. The Attic

"_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know. Where the treetops glisten and the children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow."_

"There are several boxes in the attic, but they shouldn't be too hard to find. I'd have Raven guiding you around up there, but since she's busy leading poor Hank on, you'll be relying upon your old seek and find skills."

Erik eyed him a little irritably, though deep down, somewhere in the most neglected pit of his soul, he couldn't stay even slightly irritated with the spoiled telepath for long. And by "for long," he meant for longer than a few weeks. Charles was easily aggravating and Erik knew better by now than to think even for a moment he did it entirely unintentionally. Apparently they both had what Raven dubbed the "button pushing reflex." Neither man was upset in the slightest and took it as a compliment.

Stopping his chair off to the side in the hallway, Charles gave his friend a pleased smile as Erik pulled down the trap door for the ladder, ducking out of the way to avoid earning a concussion. "I can direct you around if you need it." He wriggled his fingers next to his temple.

Wordlessly, he climbed up the ladder, suppressing a sneeze when he next inhaled a large amount of dust. Erik maneuvered his way along the beams, muttering to himself about rich people owning too much unnecessary junk, and cursed when he somehow managed to disturb a previously well-stacked column of boxes. Rubbing his shoulder where a box clipped him, Erik picked up the boxes one by one, determined not to leave Charles's attic an utter mess… or, more of a mess than it was before. Muffling another sneeze in the crook of his arm, he continued his hunched creeping through the enormous attic, stopping dead when he came face to face with a suited man reading a newspaper under an old lamp. Their eyes met, and Erik made a face as Charles's voice suddenly popped into his head.

_Erik, I would appreciate if you didn't kill the head butler, Albert. He's very nice and I want to keep him._

Sighing quietly, he moved on, casting a glance back at Albert, apparently, who seemed unperturbed by the encounter. Shaking his head, he hit his leg on the edge of a rolltop desk, cursing in his mother tongue.

_You alright, my friend?_

"No, I'm not alright," he hissed. "Why do you have a desk up here?"

Even Charles was puzzled, evident by the befuddled feelings projected into his head. _I had no idea there was a desk up there, actually._

"Can I burn it?"

_No, you may not. Feel free to burn some mannequins, however. Alex isn't trashing them fast enough for my liking._

That brought a slight smirk to his face, though it turned sour quickly as he cast a glance around him. "Charles, I've searched this entire place. There are no Christmas dec-" He broke off, scrubbing his face with one hand as he reluctantly ventured over to the box he'd just spotted from the new angle. "Don't say a word."

He could hear the laughter from down the ladder if he strained his hearing. _Not saying anything, my friend._

On his way to the boxes-_Mein Gott, how much is there?_-he met the desk again, the asinine piece of furniture blocking his only path to the decorations. Mulling it over for about a half second, Erik took a few steps back before suddenly charging it, bracing his shoulder against it to knock it out of his way with a thunderous crashing. Pleased with himself, he didn't answer Charles's frantic mental questioning, instead picking up one box of decorations and making his way back to the exit. Then he dropped the box down the hole, disregarding the all caps note of "FRAGILE" marked on the top of the box.

"Erik!" Charles shouted, casting a glare up at him before jerking out of the way as another FRAGILE box was tossed down. "You'll break everything! Didn't you see they're marked 'fragile?'"

"Oops," Erik said, not sounding sorry in the least. Not that Charles expected him to. He went back to the box stack, now he knew where it was, and tossed down a few more. Charles winced every time a box hit another, or hit the floor, or the ladder. "Last one," he called, throwing it down the hole before hastily descending himself. He wouldn't stay up there longer than he had.

Charles gave him a flat look, sighing. "Thank you, my friend."

"You're welcome," he replied without really meaning it, manipulating the metal ladder and hinges to close the trapdoor. He wouldn't risk a concussion again by trying to do things the normal way.


	2. Irony

"_Yuletide carols being sung by a choir and folks dressed up like Eskimos."_

"How many records does the Professor have?"

"A lot, let's put it that way."

Alex gave Raven a strange look, stuffing his hands in his jacket. "Got any Elvis?"

Raven grinned at him. "Of course. We're not cavemen." Running her pale fingers along the rows of records, she finally stopped at one and pulled it out. "'Burning Love' sound good?"

"Sounds great," Sean answered for him, smiling enough to rearrange the freckles on his face. "Hank could express himself through the song."

They all looked over to the young man in question, giving him mischievous smiles, and Hank's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. "No thank you," he answered in a mumbling voice, uneasily picking at the buttons on his shirt cuff.

"Oh, come on, Hank. Don't you like me at all?" Raven pretended to sulk, enjoying Hank's immediate flustered expression.

"I do, I do, I just… Don't believe in serenading women, especially in such a provocative fashion, like Elvis Presley does."

"You're a prude, bozo."

Hank wasn't having a fantasy of strangling Alex. Not at all.

"Okay, fine," Raven huffed, shelving the record again and picking out Nat King Cole instead. "'The Christmas Song' is acceptable, right, Hank?"

He gave a small nod, a little bruised after Raven's irritation and Alex's continued use of that stupid nickname. He'd had enough of that bullying kid crap in school. He'd hoped he would escape it when he left college, but no, of course not.

"Aw," Sean whined, "I want to listen to something good."

This time, even Alex looked surprised. "You don't think he's good? Did your mom drop you on your head?"

The redhead seemed to consider it for a moment as Raven put the record into the player, perching herself on the arm of Hank's chair. "I don't know, she might've."

"She messed you up, then. Nat King Cole is great," Alex informed him, taking that usual tough guy tone that meant no arguments. Not that anyone was about to argue with him.

"Alex, shut up, I can't hear."

Hank soon looked up again, furrowing his brow at the line about dressing up like Eskimos. "Isn't this a little racist?"

The three others formed a groaning, exasperated chorus at their comrade.


	3. It's Really Not a Major Holiday

"_Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I make you out of clay."_

"Hey, isn't Hanukkah starting soon?" Sean asked, looking up from his cereal.

Everyone save Erik gave him an incredulous look, shocked he was even aware enough to recognize the passing days, considering the constant haze and skunk smell in his room.

"Nope," Erik replied without missing a beat, not even sparing a glance from the newspaper in his grasp as he brought the coffee mug to his lips.

"I'm fairly sure Sean is correct, Erik," Hank spoke, attempting to defend his pothead friend for once.

Before Erik could reply, Charles swallowed his tea and looked at both students. "Boys, stop talking."

That, along with Erik's tightened grip on the newspaper, easily shut them up.

* * *

"It's not a major holiday," Moira informed them later, Hank nodding silently in the background.

"Then how come everyone never talks about the major holidays?"

"Uh, more importantly, how is it _not_ a major holiday? They have eight days of presents!"

Moira sighed. "Everyone thinks it's important because it's near Christmas, and since Christmas is so significant, by the logic of Christianity, Hanukkah must be just as significant for Jews."

"So what's Catholic logic then?" Alex asked, purposely trying to get a rise out of Sean.

Raven piped up, smothering her grin as she glanced subtly at Alex. "To murder all the Jews for daring to not believe in Jesus."

Sean flashed them both a look that was as enraged as he could possibly ever get. "No, we don't. At all," he growled out, growing more angry when Alex and Raven burst out laughing. "Catholics do a lot more for the poor than I've seen other religions do, so cut it out, guys!" He cried, standing up.

Moira pinched the bridge of her nose, looking at Hank, who was rubbing his head. "How do you put up with this?"

Hank shrugged helplessly. "I don't." Turning to face his peers, Hank uttered a quick Hail Mary he'd overheard Sean murmuring when he jumped out the window. "It's ironic you're all stereotyping when we already deal with that enough ourselves."

He wished he'd never said anything when they all turned on him, Moira stepping up to shove them back as Hank ducked.

* * *

Charles and Erik looked up when Moira came into the study, her hair mussed and looking as though she'd gotten in a fight. "What happened?" Charles implored, looking extremely concerned.

"Where do you keep the alcohol?" She asked instead, following Erik's pointed finger to the cabinet. "Are you sure an insane asylum is out of the question for Alex and Raven, at least? I think Hank and Sean might not cause much trouble if the other two are gone."

Erik gave Charles a look which very much agreed with Moira, for once, and Charles gave him a look back to let him know that yes, it was still out of the question.

"Moira, love-"

"We discussed the 'love' thing."

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "I might be able to smooth things over if you tell me what happened."

Sighing, she turned around, leaning on the cabinet as she downed a glass of-was that vodka?-in two gulps. "It was my understanding that you were never supposed to debate religion in polite company."

"Oh, dear," Charles murmured, frowning. "That is serious." He flashed Erik a slight glare when he sensed the metal bender's smirk. "Very serious," he enunciated pointedly to his friend.

Moira poured herself another glass. "Can I at least, oh, I don't know, smother Alex tonight while he's asleep?"

Erik interrupted before Charles could get a word in. "I already asked back in August."

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but furrowed his brow when Moira sighed again.

"I never drank before meeting them. Now I'm a functioning alcoholic."

The telepath couldn't help flashing her a smile. "It's an occupation in and of itself. Helps you tolerate a lot more in life."

Erik raised an eyebrow at Charles, knowing the comment was directed mostly at him. "I'm touched."

He turned his grin on the metal bender. "You should be, my friend. Now, Moira, could you go lock the door? I feel we should all rejoice in the lack of children and start a drinking game."

None of them could say they objected.


	4. Of Course

"_Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock. Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring."_

Erik sighed as he stapled another section of the long strand of lights to the house, looking around at where he'd moved from, and where he was moving to. The annoyingly long distance made him want to repeatedly bang his head on the edge of the roof.

"Erik, you want some cocoa?" Raven called up from far below, on the snowy ground.

Did he want cocoa? On one hand, it might warm him up a little. On the other hand, he'd grown up in Germany, where it was pretty damn cold in the winter, so he wasn't a weakling about the weather. "No!" He called back, stapling another section and reaching his mental awareness out to the metal ladder beneath him, moving it smoothly along so he could continue without reaching too far and possibly falling over. He had a feeling that was what would've happened if he hadn't saved Hank from the fate of putting up lights.

Why he'd done it, he had no idea. Possibly because he was the only one with advanced medical training and he didn't want to be the one to set a broken arm if Hank fell off the ladder. Moira knew enough medical practice to take care of the basics, but Erik would get hailed in when things were serious, because he'd saved himself from bleeding to death and getting gangrenous infections in the past, when he had no one but himself.

He sighed, thinking of Charles and Hank. Genetics, physics, and engineering degrees were all fine and good when you were employed at a job with a lab and plenty of supplies. Not when you were secretive freedom fighters for a fledgling race of people, and certainly not when you got attacked by government men with tanks and plenty of guns.

He'd come to terms with it by this point. What he hadn't come to terms with, and what he likely never would, was the endless Christmas decorations. He'd gotten down a select number of boxes from the attic. How could there be so many things in even one of those boxes? Erik cursed as the staple didn't go in properly, narrowing his eyes and bending it into its proper position embedded in the house. It was probably best he was the one putting lights up anyway. He was the only who could use a staple gun on metal gutters and brick walls.

Charles had a monstrous amount of decorations. And Raven was happy as can be to go along with putting it all up. He'd been tempted to crack the siblings' skulls together, but he figured he'd get himself into a lower circle of hell for bashing the skull of a cripple. Especially after said cripple had been kind enough to stock up on all kinds of coffee in the world, more than Erik knew what to do with.

He soon sensed another person down below, one who was distinctly not Raven.

"Do you want eggnog?"

"Is it alcoholic?"

"Of course."

Erik allowed himself a small smile, looking down at Moira. "Yes." Then he added, "Please."


	5. That Creepy German Guy

"_He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake."_

If the students at the Xavier manor were to choose just a single word to describe Erik Lehnsherr, it would be this: Creepy.

Alex had seen some of the foulest human beings before, especially after he was locked away in solitary. Even prior to that, when he was transferred around different prisons and cells, and before that, when he killed the asshole who kidnapped him and his sister.

He'd seen the look a man would get in his eyes, a dangerous look, one that told you flat out he knew about 1,000 ways to kill you and wouldn't hesitate if you gave him a reason.

"Killing is second nature for him, I bet," he'd muttered to the other students, proof coming forth with the reports of dead Soviet soldiers after Erik and Charles went to Russia, and when he killed Emma after they interrogated her. On top of that… well, Shaw would be the prime example, but at least Erik had a good reason for that one.

All in all, Erik was a dangerous man, and everyone in the house knew it. It's just that some preferred to remain in denial about it, and by "some," Alex meant Charles. No matter. It just meant that they weren't safe under Charles's wing if they incurred Erik's wrath. Which also meant they had to keep their shenanigans under tight wraps and then carefully pass the blame off on a single one of them each time.

This time, Raven was happy to take the blame, because she liked to get right back in Erik's face. Somehow her brain was so messed up that she wasn't even slightly intimidated by Erik anymore, though she'd snickered and told them why later. Apparently he'd been very comforting to their dearest English professor while said professor was in the hospital after Cuba, and Raven couldn't take him seriously anymore. Moira sort of could, but that was because she was mature enough to recognize Erik's conscience was buried so deeply-underneath all his hatred for everything to ever exist-that it was near death from starvation. Thus, he was still plenty murderous despite Charles bringing out the very best in him. The boys were still extremely terrified of Erik, though they tried not to show it too often. It wouldn't do to look like they were about to wet themselves _every_ time Erik so much as glanced at them.

It didn't help either that the asshole was the worst drill sergeant. Which is why all three of them, plus Raven, were running through the snow a week from Christmas. Erik was running alongside them, which only irritated them more, because wasn't it enough for him to make them run, but now he had to watch them the whole several thousand laps around the mansion. Really, everyone but Sean and Hank was in shape, but even Raven looked ready to puke up all her internal organs. Sean had collapsed into the snow, even as Erik had yelled at him for it. Alex glanced at the window to see Charles and Moira all cozy and warm and drinking cocoa and not about to barf from running so much. He narrowed his eyes, looking back to see Hank drop to the ground as well. Raven was keeping pace with Alex, though they weren't about to drop, not wanting to be the last one to get yelled at for ten minutes by Erik.

It wasn't even really yelling. Erik just gave them a look that said "I will burn you alive, probably" and then cursed a little in German before he glared and pointed at the road for them to keep moving. The worst part was that Charles was always so caught up trying to woo Moira that he didn't bother to try and rescue his students and sister from certain death.

Raven and Alex exchanged an equal parts "I'm going to barf" and "Erik is a bastard" look as they jogged, slowed from their bolting pace they'd started at when Erik had scared the hell out of them by firing four bullets right next to their heels. They logically knew the bullets just imbedded into the gravel, but logic never factored in when Erik Lehnsherr was shooting at them like a maniac. No, not a maniac. Erik was too methodical about it to be a maniac. He was just a sadist.

Erik strangely was no longer following them, so they stumbled into the bushes to try and not puke a lung. "Couldn't he give us a Christmas present in not making us do this crap?"

"That'd be too nice of him," Raven mumbled, dropping her face back into the snow.

"Isn't that cold?"

"No," came the muffled reply.

"Is there any way to become as delusional as the professor and start liking Erik?"

"Charles is a brand of unreachable crazy. You'll never be that stupid even if you try."

"Damn."

"Tell me about it."


	6. Chuckles the Clown

"_Feliz navidad, prospero año y felicidad."_

Erik sighed and flicked his wrist, the strand of lights wrapping itself around the tree branches. "Is that acceptable?"

Charles scrutinized the job, frowning and shaking his head. "That's hardly your best, my friend. Try again?"

Moira rolled her eyes from where she and Hank were busily untangling other strands of lights-somehow several had gotten tangled up in a giant ball-and spoke up. "He's only going to try it again so many times before he tells you to deal with whatever latest version is on the tree."

"You're all just upset that Charles hasn't had to do jack this whole time for decorating." Raven handed her brother a mug of tea. "Which, I mean, I get it. I'm pissed at him too, but still."

Muttering under his breath, Erik took the lights off again. "I'd love to be able to wheel around in a toy all day."

Charles didn't seem to particularly care whether his comrades thought him lazy, too happy to enjoy the lack of work and the fresh tea he was sipping. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

Raven made a face at him, turning to Erik at the tree. "Having fun, honeybun?"

He turned slowly to face her, eye twitching just a bit. "What did you just call me?"

"Try not to take it personally, my friend. She's always had mortifying nicknames for the people around her."

"What's yours?" Moira asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow when he coughed and looked away.

The shapeshifter grinned. "Charlie-boy, Chuckles, and the usual, Francis."

Hank looked up, pushing his glasses up farther on his nose. "I can see where the first two originated, but care to elaborate on the last one?"

Moira and Raven snickered, Erik smirking as he flicked his wrist again to toss the lights on the tree. Charles cast a glare at all of them. "That won't be necessa-"

Raven poked him in the cheek, him batting her hand away giving enough time to interrupt with her revelation. "His middle name is Francis."

"Christmas is cancelled for all of you if you laugh-" He soured immediately when they all burst into laughter at varying degrees, Hank being the only one having enough grace to try to not openly go into hysterics. "I hate my life."

"Oh, Francis, you're killing me," Raven moaned. "You're so un-fun."

"I can make you think you're a seventy year old man for the rest of your life, darling."

"Empty threat," Erik responded for her. "You told me if I ate the last piece of pie in the fridge you'd make me think I was a toddler. I've yet to see that come to fruition."

Charles huffed, taking another drink of tea. "I hate you all," he muttered, not meaning it of course, but saying it made him feel better.

"We love you too, Chuckles."


	7. Stay Out of the Kitchen

"_Oh, by golly, have a holly jolly Christmas this year!"_

Charles had elected to stay home when the Christmas shopping commenced, wanting to avoid the looks he'd get from the general public and then not wishing to be strapped down in the car like a shipping crate. So he'd added an item to each of his friends' shopping lists so they could buy their own gifts on his behalf, and told them not to bother writing it down anywhere else because he was going to make them forget buying it one way or another. Crafty telepath.

He was buying them all books, not that they'd remember later. But for the moment, Sean was a little depressed. "I don't read," he whined. "Well… except for Captain America comics. But those are comics. I hate books."

"Because you're an uncultured swine," Erik responded evenly.

"_The Feminine Mystique_? Could he _be_ any more cliché?" Raven said, rolling her eyes to the heavens. She was happy, because she actually liked the book, but it was still über cliché.

"I'm actually fairly pleased with this choice. My copy is in Illinois." Hank held up his list, which had _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ written in a neat cursive scrawl across the bottom.

"What book is he getting you, Eri- You know what, never mind," Alex broke off hastily, not wanting to really know anymore what book it was. Probably an indulgence in Erik's desire to kill everything that moved.

For Moira's part, she was touched Charles knew her well enough not to get her something like _Little Women _or _Jane Eyre_. He got her something she'd actually read and enjoy, instead of defaulting to a book about a woman like men normally did.

"What's he getting you?" Sean turned to Alex, peering at his list and frowning when Alex stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

"None of your business," he snapped, walking inside the shopping mall.

Erik subtly rolled his eyes at the tough guy act, following him with the others in tow.

* * *

Erik nearly dropped the bag he was carrying when he stumbled on the disaster that was now the kitchen, hearing a few bags being dropped next to and behind him from the others' shock. "What the hell happened?" He inquired, leveling his gaze on Charles, who looked rather embarrassed.

"Ah, well, it's the queerest thing, really. I was going to make gingerbread, like Raven had always done with me when we were younger. And, well…" He frowned. "It appears I should stay far, far away from baking."

He couldn't help the hand that went to rub his forehead, and the long, tired sigh that left his lungs. "Someone get the flour off him, and try not to track it everywhere."

"We could use a rug beater on him!" Sean suggested, then quieted immediately upon realizing why that wasn't a good idea even in another dimension, just as everyone looked at him like he'd finally just killed off all his brain cells. "Uh… or he could shower."

"Charles, how do you feel about being sprayed with a hose?" Hank suggested, adjusting the glasses on his nose-really, he needed to get some pliers and tighten them.

"In the dead of winter? Not particularly eager, but…" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just… oh forget it. Drag the hose into the house, if we get water everywhere, fine. My mother can return someday to find the melted mannequins, dripping kitchen, and smashed china in piles below the windows outside." He clapped his hands. "Let's go, move it."

They hastily obeyed, though Erik and Moira both sighed again and went their separate ways down the halls. They'd associate with Charles once he was no longer covered in flour.


	8. To Kill a Mockingbird

"_I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe."_

Moira wasn't sure for a while why she agreed to have a private couple of hours with Charles Xavier. Since she'd met him in that pub in Oxford, he'd been a womanizer. Arrogant and set in his flirtatious ways, grinning like a rat bastard because he knew he'd bed ninety-nine percent of the girls he approached, and so secure in his ability to drink enough alcohol to choke a horse and still be able to talk about philosophy and say long words like "colloquially" and "brobdingnagian" without stuttering.

However, he hadn't exactly met a woman. Oh, sure, he slept with plenty of girls, who fell for his carefully crafted charming face and perfectly worded speeches, always coming back to genetics so he could impress their giggling personalities with his intelligence. But he had never met a woman. Moira had been a tomboy as a child, always chatting away about her dreams of being a woman soldier in the US Army. That hadn't happened, clearly, and once she'd gotten older, she figured it was for the best. Harassment and assault were all too common among allies and enemies alike, and she knew where to hit and jab, but that would only defend her so much. So she'd gone for her backup aspirations, ending up at the Central Intelligence Agency. Working at a typewriter, putting notes into print for a bunch of men too lazy to do things themselves. Her father, when she talked to him, had always ranted about her superiors. He was one of those rare men of the time who actually believed his daughter could be somebody, by God, and no sexism would get in her way because she was just as good as any man. Finally working her way up the ladder to agent hadn't been a cheery yellow brick road, but she'd survived. Still, it was a source of neverending frustration and anger that she had to work twice as hard as her male colleagues to get half the recognition.

Which was precisely why she'd let Charles blather on about her auburn hair for about a minute before she shut him down. He was, quite honestly, pathetic. But he was the only one with the genetics knowledge in the specific field she was looking for that would also give her the time of day. Sure, she got to know him later, and found he wasn't as insufferable as she'd first thought. He wasn't terrible-he cared about his little blondie of a sister, who was so naive and had an enormous chip on her shoulder. Moira had carefully refrained from judgement of Raven, knowing she had no idea what the girl might've gone through, since Charles had mentioned she was adopted by him. She'd taken notice of the way he said "him" and not "his family." Right up to Cuba, more things about Charles Xavier came to light, more things to reveal he really was just insecure and desperately lonely.

She held little sympathy. It was his own fault he had so few friends in the world. He'd imposed himself on her again in the CIA complex, where she'd shut him down again and he'd walked off very blatantly wounded, tail between his legs. He continued his quest of trying to get her to talk to him in the way he wanted: unprofessionally. She'd admit to having lead him on just a little, but she figured if he got pissed when he found out, he'd finally leave her alone.

She should've known better. He was fascinated by her, she could tell. He'd never had to work for a relationship with anyone, obviously. Even his intense… weird… friendship-thing with Erik took barely any effort between them. So after all that, she wondered why she'd agreed to spend time with him alone in his study.

Oh, right, free booze she now needed to get through a day around the students. She'd hated teenagers when she was a teenager. If possible, she liked them far less now after spending months with Alex, Sean, Hank, and Raven. Charles had a ludicrously extensive alcohol collection, but neither she nor Erik particularly minded. Charles had a nice selection and he was always happy to share with his new adult friends, of which he obviously had never had, since Raven was twenty-three but acted like she was sixteen.

Moira took another drink from her glass, looking at Charles, who seemed uncomfortable. She could take a few guesses as to why, and was likely right on all of them. "No genetics spiel?"

"Ah…" He shifted, taking a sip of his scotch. "Well, I know really only Hank is legitimately interested in it without an ulterior motive." Right, Erik and his whole ironic supremacy attitude. "So ah… what would you like to talk about?"

Was he serious? His blue eyes boring into hers with all possible intensity and focus informed her that, yes, somehow he was serious. Unfortunately, all she could think to talk about with him was books. "Did you know there's a _To Kill a Mockingbird_ movie coming out next week?"

He straightened, instantly interested. "Really? I had no idea, when did this happen? What day? We could- Ah, never mind. But I do hope it's good. Who are they getting to be Atticus?" Moira hadn't missed the way Charles's eyes flicked to his chair as he'd suggested they go see it. He seemed to have swallowed his feelings for the time being.

"Gregory Peck, I believe," she answered easily, more comfortable now they were on the subject of something they were both obsessed with.

Charles was practically drooling. "Oh, thank God, they casted someone who can do Atticus justice. It will be wonderful, I'm sure. I wonder how much things will end up being censored, though, considering Elvis Presley can't even swing his hips a little on stage."

"I think in this case, it might be different levels of censorship. Elvis is being provocative. The movie would be…" Moira sat back. "Maybe not different after all," she sighed, both their thoughts going back to segregation. It was hard to believe five years had already passed since the Little Rock Nine incident had happened. So little change since then, and the residents at the manor were now feeling the pain and secrecy of the beginning of their own segregation. She knew Erik, at least, was counting down the days until some sort of registration was passed, or some law to keep the mutants in their place.

"Perhaps we might end up being surprised," Charles tried to cheer them both, smiling a little. "After all, Ike certainly surprised us with his move against Faubus."

They clinked glasses, both sharing stiff smiles. They might be surprised. Or they could face the same old. Hopefully, the world wouldn't be so sectioned off someday.


	9. Snow Plow

"_I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Only a hippopotamus will do."_

"Sean, hold still, your hair's getting all over the tape."

"Well, then find someone else to store tape on."

Alex and Raven exchanged a glance, sharing a diabolical smile before snatching all the tape pieces from Sean's face and neck, then placing them on Hank's face, much to the young man's chagrin.

"Thank you, Sean," Hank muttered, sighing.

"You're welcome. Anyone know where the Professor and Erik are?"

Moira spoke up from her spot in the corner, where she'd been tiredly sipping eggnog after the disaster at breakfast that morning, which had involved Alex stealing Hank's glasses. He'd threatened to throw them in the garbage disposal and turn it on, to which Hank had surprisingly responded by tackling Alex, also surprisingly standing nimbly up and catching his glasses out of the air with grace. He'd then put them back on his face and quietly left the room, everyone else wondering where that had come from. Sean had laughed at Alex for getting beat up by Hank, and a fight had ensued where Moira somehow ended up with syrup in her hair.

"They're outside somewhere… doing something stupid, I'm sure."

* * *

Charles groaned as Erik finished welding the newly-made extra large snow shovel to the front of Charles's wheelchair, the older man stepping even further back to examine his work before nodding approval. "Alright, Charles, go."

"I hate my life just a little," the Brit muttered, pushing the joystick on the chair's arm forward, which made the chair push against the snow as it followed Charles's command.

"I was right, was I not?"

"Save it, Erik."

Following behind Charles, Erik looked behind them and smiled a bit, pleased with the progress they'd already made. "Much faster than shovelling over and over."

"And much better for your PTSD, I imagine," Charles replied, frowning a little at the slowed pace.

"That it is." Erik strolled to the front, frowning at their makeshift snow plow. "Verdammt."

"What?" Charles looked up at his friend, confused.

"You can't figure out what that means on your own?" Erik asked, giving Charles a pointed look as he reached out a hand, calling the metal shovel to his hands and detaching it from Charles's chair. "I suppose the thing I did fail to remember was the bit that dispenses the snow off to the side. Which makes little sense, considering I'm a grown adult and should have remembered."

"We _did_ have a lot of eggnog already today, my friend."

"... True."

"_And_ peppermint schnapps. And rum cake."

"Charles, the alcohol cooks out."

"... Shut up."

"Clearly, you don't cook."

"Clearly, you forget I grew up without having to cook for myself."

"How did you survive at Oxford?"

"Raven and I ate out a lot."

"By a lot, you mean every meal, right?"

"Usually, yes. Sometimes we had cereal for breakfast."

"I'm surprised you even knew how to do that." Erik merely smirked when Charles roughly smacked his arm.

"Take me inside, it's freezing."

"You're as bundled up as we could possibly make you. How are you cold?"

"Inside," he insisted.

"Manners do wonders to convince people, Charles, dearest."

"Yes, Erik, dearest." Charles rolled his eyes, resting his cheek on his gloved hand. "Could you please, oh please, take me inside?"

"I suppose I could."

"Oh, how kind of you."


	10. They're Really Oblivious

_I'd like to thank CrazyTenor42, rebecca-in-blue, sirensbane, mooncrossed, Anon, TheDeductionist, DemigodGleek, TheAlabasterPhoenyx, a second Anon, caligirlsd99, time2read, and Sheherazade's Fable for leaving reviews._

_I'd also like to thank IHeartStories, Joker-Girl-Kelly, LupusCursor, charlie7694, mihenna, trontroy, cutekoalas, Nekiare, Anala, The-Fair-Lady, Aido, TheDevilsDaughter267, The Clara Oswin Oswald, golden-indigo-ink, Arwen2712, Lacus01, the flat of the blade, Livin4Jesus, Missy the Least, sohrem666, Cassandra-Luna-Bellatrix-Snape, DonnaSangre, caligirlsd99, kanna-chan94, LadyoftheUnderground, to save or raze, LilyLunaEtheline, Ranchdressing, and Turpitude for favoriting this story. You guys rock! Gives me an ego boost I probably shouldn't be getting, haha. I have a little too much in common with Erik for my own good._

* * *

_"Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you."_

Christmas was here. Finally.

Moira took her time going downstairs, as did Charles. Neither of them relished the thought of enduring the teenagers on Christmas morning. However, they did have to be there to make sure said teenagers didn't burn down the tree or start chucking wrapped presents at each other's heads. They'd already dealt with that, as Hank had done to Alex when he'd finally gotten fed up with being called several unsavory names.

Surprise was their first reaction when they found all four students waiting quietly and patiently by the tree, looking up expectantly when the adults entered. The students were given suspicious looks in return, and the moment Charles gave the nod to open presents, it descended into anarchy.

They should've known better than to trust the teenage-sized toddlers for longer than a few moments. You live, you learn.

Erik was absent, a fact everyone became aware and wary of almost immediately. It startled them enough to comment on it, stopping their rush for the tree long enough to do so.

"I'm not sure where he is, actually," Charles replied, frowning and resting his chin in his hand. "I don't doubt he has a good reason for his absence, however."

Alex unearthed a bundle of envelopes, bound by a rubber band, and they had a neatly scrawled name across each. One for all of them.

"What do you think it is?"

"It's from Erik."

Raven rolled her eyes to the heavens. "No, really? I had no idea, Sherlock."

"Hm," Hank said, shaking the envelope a little. He could hear something shifting inside, but before he could call attention to that fact, he was confronted by a chorus of groans.

"What the hell?" Raven spit out, narrowing her eyes and shaking the letter Erik had written her. It was all the same, for everyone. Not one word different.

_Dear Other Westchester Resident,_

_Social convention dictates I return the favor of buying Christmas gifts. However, you should all know by now that social convention means nothing to me. Have a merry Christmas._

_Signed,_

_Your Resident Jew-when-convenient_

"He didn't get us anything, while we got him stuff? He's such an asshole!"

"This bums even me out," Sean mumbled, "And I'm higher than a kite right now… I think…"

"I don't know why anyone is surprised. You've known Erik how long and you didn't see this coming?" Moira asked, ever the voice of reason.

"This is troubling…"

"Uh, guys-"

"Jerk."

* * *

"Erik, I really think you could have gotten them _something_," Charles chastised the moment they sat down for their nightly chess game. "Moira and I don't care either way, but children have certain expectations, especially regarding _social convention_," he added, raising an eyebrow at the last two words.

Erik seemed genuinely confused, though it didn't show on his always carefully schooled face. "I'm surprised they didn't see their gifts. Aside from Hank, none of them are inclined to read, so I thought they would merely skip the letters."

It was Charles's turn to be puzzled. "What gifts?"

* * *

Erik held up an envelope that had been bitterly left from that morning. He held his hand out a fair distance from it, and a small metal object slid out from the confines of the folded paper slip and floated gently a few inches from Erik's hand. "Clearly, you all missed this."

On his command, Charles watched as more metal objects slid out from each of the envelopes-Charles and Moira had left theirs in a neat stack with their other gifts, intending to collect their piles later when the excitement had settled down-and levitated in front of Erik.

"Ah," he said quietly, more than a little embarrassed. "I admit, none of us noticed those." Erik ordered one object, Charles's, to float to the telepath so he could pluck it from the air and examine it for himself. Charles smiled fondly at it as he turned it over in his hand, looking up at his friend. "This is rather wonderful, Erik, thank you."

"It was nothing, took me no time at all," Erik waved him off nonchalantly, internally shy from the compliment. In truth, he'd agonized over the little metal objects for a couple of weeks, brow constantly furrowed as he sat in his room and let the metal scraps orbit around him in a neat little asteroid-like ring. He'd thought painstakingly over what little symbol would represent each of his new comrades, and had nearly collapsed in relief when the last one was decided upon and created. The last one had been Hank, because honestly, the young man was so difficult to represent in a tiny little welded metal scrap piece.

They were all tiny figurines of each person, with a small symbol for each of them melded to the legs on the standing figurines. Charles's had an 'X' because Erik had gone cliché with that one. Moira had a book, and due to the miniscule size, he would have needed a microscope to put any specific title or decoration on the book-let alone for anyone to see it-so he'd foregone that detail. Sean had a fish, because on the car ride back to Langley after picking the boy up, he could _not_ shut up about the damned fish he so adored.

The others had symbols Erik was sure fit them, and Charles beamed up at his friend. "Shall I summon the others so they may examine their gifts properly?"

"Might as well. I think they'd rather avoid running extensive laps after insulting me on false premises more than they already have." Erik gave Charles a grin, full of threats and amusement at the students, and Charles pretended he wasn't slightly unsettled. Definitely not.


End file.
